Merry UnChristmas
by willwrite4fics
Summary: Sometimes soldiers have to unexpectedly work on the holiday. A mission goes a bit wrong, will our favorite Ranger make it back for Christmas Day?
1. Chapter 1

A Very Ranger Christmas can sometimes be a mission, away from all the fun celebrations. It comes with the job, even if it's not what a soldier would hope for.

I wrote this because I wanted to show that soldiers can be called to duty at any time, and because I never write Christmas fics, and this is a way to write a Christmas fic while avoiding writing a Christmas fic. The typical sappy "I got you this." "Awww I got you this!" scene just doesn't exactly fit most of the Joes, so a easy-to-do Christmas scene can't be used.

I know it will be a stunning surprise but this fic is Beachhead centered, although I'll pull in other Joes as we go. I even give a couple little-used Joes some fic-time!

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><p>Beachhead shut the office door behind himself and came to attention. "Reporting as ordered, Sir!"<p>

Hawk glanced upward and waved him to a seat. "At ease, sit down."

Dragging his mask off, Beach settled into one of the chairs gingerly. He swiped one hand at a particularly large clump of mud on his knee. "Sorry sir, I came right off the course."

"Understandable. You've got a mission." Hawk handed over a folder. "I know it's nearly Christmas, but..."

Shaking his head, Beach snorted. "But bad guys don't stop fer the holidays. I understand that." His eyes picked out the most important information from the intel reports. "Back to Turkanstaki?"

Hawk showed a ghost of a smile. "Different part of the country though. And you won't be going in as Beachhead either." He handed over another paper and watched Beach reading it and then sighing. "Think you can handle it?"

He was treated to a frown. "Sir, I'm a Ranger. I can handle whatever you can find for me." Beach settled back in the chair and mused over the papers. "This could go all kinds of wrong pretty easily though. I'll have to get in somehow... they'll raise security the instant the big wig shows up."

Hawk saw his command sergeant major plotting different ways to accomplish what Hawk needed done, discarding ideas that didn't fit with the information in the reports, weeding out the plans that depended on too many things going 'right' and picking the ones that allowed for plenty of 'what if' scenarios. Within a few minutes, the stocky Ranger leaned forward and spread a few pages out. "Sir... I'll need some expert advice from a couple people, and some regular fatigues, but what if I..."

* * *

><p>Over an hour later, Beachhead was walking out, a map clutched in his hand and a determined look on his face. Duke met up with him as he headed down to the quartermaster storerooms. "Beach, you getting set?"<p>

"Yeah, gotta get some regular fatigues that fit me." Beach glanced down at his tall boots. "And some regular combat boots. Sonnabitch, I like my boots. I'll bet I end up with bruised shins before I'm back." He sighed and gave the junior quartermaster a few items to pull off the shelves. "Duke..." Suddenly the confident Ranger faltered. "I uhh... I mean, could..."

Duke's eyebrows went up. "Yes?" He watched Beach fiddle with the edge of his folder of papers. "What?"

Beach inhaled. "Could I ask you to give somethin' to Courtney... I mean... you know..."

Duke carefully didn't smile. "Sure, but shouldn't you give her whatever it is yourself?"

"Well, it's in my top desk drawer. Little blue box and I'd give it to her myself but I mean, if I don't make it back, you'll give it to her, right?" Beach looked everywhere but at Duke's face. If he fiddled the edge of the folder much more, he'd tear completely through it.

"Beach, you're coming back. You won't be facing Cobra, just some local warlord's minions. Don't get all morbid on me here." Duke felt a slight pang of alarm. What if the man had a gut feeling he wasn't going to survive the mission? Duke might be a experienced Intel agent and a rugged leader of soldiers, but deep down inside, he was also a superstitious Army grunt. When a guy said he had that feeling, you'd better watch out for him. "You'll be okay..."

Beach gave him a perturbed glare. "Hell, Top! I just meant I might not make it back by Christmas day. Damn man, I ain't gonna buy it in some backwater scum hole at the hands of a bunch of half-trained toughs. I just wanted to be sure Courtney got her present on the right date." He rolled his eyes. "Ain't gotta go bein' all melodramatic."

Duke inhaled. "Oh, of course... I mean, of course I will. You'll probably be back before then anyway." He breathed out a soft sigh of relief. The Ranger grabbed up the clothing and started back up the hall and Duke fell in beside him. "What else do you need?"

"Gotta go have a chat with PsycheOut to get some advice." At Duke's incredulous look, Beach snorted. "Man is good at his job, just likes to pry inside folks' heads too much. Nosy bastard."

Duke blinked. "Well, part of his job is to pry inside everyone's heads. He'll enjoy getting to use the more offense-sided part of his job description." He thought it over a moment. "I sometimes forget you're not a country yokel. Good planning job on this."

Beachhead grunted in reply. "Ah dunno whut yer talkin' 'bout, Top. Ah ain't nuthin' more than a country bumpkin." His sly look sideways at his commanding officer made Duke roll his eyes. "Ain't gotta have no head-shrinkin' degree, nor quote Shakespeare at the drop of a beret to be intelligent or sneaky."

"So I'm continually reminded." Duke grinned. "Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you're on our side?" He clapped the Ranger on the back. "You be careful. I read over your plans. It could go wrong easily, so stay sharp. We'll only be able to send a small retrieval team in when we receive the signal from the transponder."

"I know." Beach dropped the worst of his accent easily. "I'll get the goods and be waitin' for the team to pick me up. Just don't let Wild Bill stop for BBQ no where." He glanced over his shoulder as he strode down towards the medical offices. "And keep my greenshirts outa trouble! Last time I came back and you'd let them paint half my obstacle course pink."

"Well, I didn't 'let' them..." Duke chuckled at the memory of half the greenshirts having to scrub the paint off while wearing one hundred pounds of dive weight belts. "But I'll keep a eye on them until you get back."

Beach poked his head into the team psychologist's office and hummed. "You in?"

PsycheOut jumped, dropping half a dozen files he'd been holding. "Holy! Beachhead! Dammit, do you guys have to come scare the skin off me for no reason? Don't you have other things to do?"

Chuckling anyway, Beach walked in and shut the office door behind himself. "Hey, this is business... I got a mission. Need some input on prisoner psychology. Figured you'd be the resident expert."

Perking up considerably, PsycheOut put aside the files. "Oh? Well, I happen to be the one to talk to... what do you need to know?"

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><p>A US Army corporal stumbled along a deserted pathway, attempting to fumble at his rifle as he negotiated the rocky trail. At irregular intervals, he would look around nervously. Finally he stopped to try to insert the magazine into the M16. Cursing softly, he slapped at it and knocked it loose. Bending to scoop it up off the ground, he looked up at a small group of scruffily dressed men pointing weapons at him.<p>

"ACK!" The corporal stepped backwards and turned to see two more men behind him. Holding up his arm, he pointed at the flag on his sleeve. "Hey... hey, I'm with the American soldiers. I got lost. Do you know where they are? I'm US Army." He turned to look at the others. "America? I'm lost."

One of the men snorted and stepped up to grab the rifle from his hands. "Hey! Don't take that!" Guns came up to point at his head and he jumped and held up his hands. "It's broken... I was trying to fix it... I'm American. It's busted... I couldn't fix it and I got separated and uhh.." The scruffy native laughed to his friends and flicked the safety off then on. When he slipped the magazine into the slot and slapped it into place, the US soldier turned a little red. "I couldn't get it to work..." He reached towards his rifle and was pushed away. "Hey, that's mine. Government property and all."

The sharp blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling onto the dirt. A hard eyed militant glared down at the disguised Beachhead, hefting the rifle butt in a threatening manner. "You are our property now, US soldier." He booted his victim in the ribs a few times. "Bring him."

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><p>Blinking rather hazily at the dim light coming through the single barred window, Beach peered around his wooden cell. "Fuck.." As he shifted around to sit up, he found his wrists bound in front of himself with rough rope. Twisting his arms a little, he grimaced and took stock of himself. Other than assorted bruises and a lump on his head, he wasn't in bad shape. He let out a loud whimper of pain and scooted forward slightly. Feeling along his waist, he found his belt, handgun, knife and ammo pouch all missing. Kicking his feet out in front of himself, he grimaced at his wool socks. The bastards had taken his boots.<p>

"Hey! Hey! Where am I!" He groaned in pain and rolled onto his side to scrub his face in the dirt a little before sitting up again. Letting out a louder whimper, he listened as the door lock was clicked open. Cringing away from the militant that stalked in to sneer at him, he whined in pain. "What are you doing? I got lost! You have to take me to the Americans!" He got kicked in the leg and yelped and writhed ineffectively along the floor.

"I do not have to take you anywhere. I do not have to do anything for you. You are a prisoner." The smug expression as the man leaned in close made his victim flinch. "You're quite a prize, I do not understand why, it was simple to capture you. But as a symbol for your country, it will be very effective to see you shot in the head in the media." He smiled evilly at the shocked expression. "Yes, as soon as Mad Tournish arrives, he will reward us for capturing you, then we will arrange for you to be killed as the capitalist pig that you are!" He reached to grab the exposed throat and squeezed. "As pleasurable as it would be for me to simply kill you now..."

Choking and batting at his captor's arms, Beach started seeing spots before he was released to flop onto the dirt, coughing and gasping. He huddled in on himself while he was kicked several times. Then there was harsh laughter as the man left, the sound of the lock clicking into place almost unheard under the wails of pain.

Rolling over, Beach let his cries of pain fade somewhat. Gazing around the room, he got to his feet and slid to the door to peer out a crack in the center. He saw a guard seated across the room and moved away from the door, still whimpering loudly. The guard only glanced up at the door with disinterest once before going back to the crumbled newspaper he was perusing. Checking out the window, the Ranger quieted finally. Watching the dusty yard, he checked the perimeter he could see, finding a single guard tower with a bored looking youngster snoozing in it. A few armed men wandered the compound aimlessly, talking in small groups or smoking cheap cigarettes. "Buncha amateurs." Spotting a nearby man, he shouted at him using a trembling voice. "Hey! H-hey! Help me! I need help!" The guy frowned at him then got up to walk towards the narrow window. Beach crammed himself up against the bars trying to look desperate. "Yeah yeah... look, I don't belong here! I'm American. Can you get me out? Out? Free? Please?"

The man pointed at himself and raised his eyebrows in query. Beach nodded and pushed his face against the bars of the window. "Yeah! Help me! I need help, I just got lost and..."

He flinched back just in time to avoid the rifle butt that slammed into the bars. He fell onto the floor on his back, shrieking in terror. Scrambling into a corner, he scrunched up and hid his face while moaning. The man looked in the window laughing before walking away, shouting to his friends about the frightened prisoner.

Beach whimpered in fear for a while longer, reaching up to feel his head a bit as he huddled in his corner. He felt the tiny bits of metal still tangled in his hair and put his hands down again. Quieting, he shifted about to get more comfortable and shivered. It was cold in his cell and without any boots or jacket, he was already chilled and it wasn't even night yet. He figured that as soon as it got dark the temperatures would begin to drop. Nothing to do but try to conserve his body heat as best he could. Sighing heavily, he shifted his feet underneath himself to keep them warm and settled in to doze until the leader of the local terrorist cell arrived. As long as his captors thought he was a beaten and terrified inexperienced soldier, they wouldn't increase security on him. The target was slated to arrive late in the day. With any luck at all, he wouldn't need to be here very long.

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><p>End Chapter<p>

So now what? In case it's not clear, Beach is acting. He's not "OOC", he's acting a bit wimpy in order to lull the enemy into not thinking he's dangerous. Just in case anyone is going "WHAT? WHY?"

Next chapter will be soon.


	2. Plans go awry

Thank you to everyone reviewing my un-Christmas Christmas fic. I am aiming for having it completely posted by the day after Christmas, so with encouragement I think it'll work. Once again, my laptop was destroyed by a virus, but I managed to salvage most of my documents before it went down.

Standard disclaimer: I have no rights to the GI Joe brand and I make no money from this writing. Please enjoy it as it is intended, a work of homage to the greatness of the characters created by Hama and Hasbro.

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

It was two days before Beach was awakened by the noise of a loud diesel engine. Getting stiffly to his feet, he limped to the window to peer out. Two days of random kicks and punches as he cringed and whimpered in mock terror had left him bruised, while the constant cold had sapped his reserves until he spent most of the time trying to sleep. Begging for water and food had gotten him just enough water to prevent outright dehydration while the occasional heel of bread had done little to alleviate his hunger. His eyes narrowed as he saw his head keeper rush out to the incoming vehicles. The convoy stopped in the center of the compound and his keeper stood by as a set of guards climbed out to glare around. Beach reluctantly pulled his eyes from the man who'd spent the last days beating him and focused on the newcomers.

A heavily muscled man stepped out of the middle car, looking around with disdain. Beach's tormenter greeted him with a great deal of deference. Tilting his head to get a better look, Beachhead compared to the picture in his head from the Intel and recognized the head of the local terrorist cell. There were gestures towards the building housing the prisoner and Beach stepped away from the window to stay out of sight. When the small group headed towards his building, he hurried to the furthest corner to huddle in a ball, hiding his face against the wall. He didn't need to add dirt to his face at this point.

The clack of the lock being opened, alerted him to tighten into the smallest ball possible. The footsteps coming towards him caused him to whimper in anticipation of the multiple kicks into his back and legs.

"Get up! Stupid worthless American scum!" The shouts got him scrunching around in the dirt to struggle to his knees. His head keeper grabbed him by the hair to wrench his head around to show him off to the newcomer. "He walked right up to my men. Stupid clueless soldiers. They are like chickens, no brains." Giving his prisoner a shake, he shoved him into the wall. When the bedraggled man whimpered and began to beg, he kicked him in the chest to shut him up. "Quiet. You do not need to speak. Do not make me cut your tongue out!" That made his victim clamp his mouth shut, although the terrified eyes flicked from him to the new man in clean business attire.

Mad Tournish smiled down at the huddled man. At first glance, it would seem almost kindly, if one didn't see his eyes. "Don't worry..." he spoke in nearly accentless English. "You won't be suffering much longer. Tomorrow is Christmas day. We'll have a present for the American people, they'll get to watch you on film tomorrow." He bent slightly to pat the filthy hair. "It won't be painful." He straightened and exchanged a smile with the keeper. "We are not animals to torture you to death. One nice gun shot to your skull..." The cold smile turned on the terrified face. "... you won't feel a thing."

A whimper escaped the prisoner's throat as he watched them leave. Curling up in his corner, he twisted his bound wrists inside the ropes and kept his whimpers just loud enough to be heard outside of the room. A glance out the window from his corner told him he only had a few hours until dark fell. His eyes narrowed as he nursed a particularly swollen bruise on his thigh. He hadn't been beaten enough to disable him. Just enough to make him wary of moving too quickly. Looking at his sock covered feet, he grimaced again. Standard combat boots were a huge step down from his normal footwear, but would have been far superior to barefoot in the cold. Still, it wasn't as bad as it could be. Not yet.

His voice was low as he spoke to himself in the lonely cell. "Fuckin' hell... this plan sounded better in my danged head."

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><p>Junkyard raced after the rubber bone to grab it and race back to Mutt. "Good boy." Mutt scratched his dog's ears and then gave him the toy back to chew on. "WildBill... any word?"<p>

The pilot walked up from the nearby Army tents. "Not a peep. No transponder signal at all." He looked off at the horizon as if he could see past the thousand miles of scrubby forest to where their teammate was supposed to be. "Old Beach is way overdue."

Clutch looked over from where he was playing solitaire on a crate. "We should go in." His voice was low. "Joes don't leave our guys behind." His eyes flicked over to the regular Army troops who were studiously ignoring the nondescript strangers hanging out next to a state of the art helicopter. They'd been standing by for three days, waiting and not speaking to anyone but the camp commander.

LowLight's quiet voice made them all settle. "Can't go get what we can't locate." Clutch grumbled under his breath and the sniper turned a expressionless gaze onto him. "We have to wait until Beach activates the locator beacon."

"He's two days overdue." Clutch left off at that repeat of their objection.

Mutt reached to pet his exuberant Rottweiler. "Beach will come through. He always comes back."

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><p>Insurgent Compound:<p>

Night finally arrived, covering everything with a freezing blanket of darkness. The men wandering the compound all disappeared into buildings, leaving only two bundled up in thick coats on guard. The one in the tower spent his time chain smoking with his back to the compound to block the wind. The single roving guard seemed more inclined to stand near a barrel fire than to actually roam the compound. Beach limped to the window to peer out, rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to get warmer. The lightweight fatigues were fine for daylight patrols out in the sunlight. Trapped in a dank cell with no footwear meant he was feeling the first warning signs of hypothermia finally. Rolling himself into a ball to conserve his body heat helped only slightly.

Waiting as the compound quieted seemed to take forever. Beach stood with an effort from the most protected corner and hobbled to the door to peer out. He found himself wishing his weakened state and limping was more of an act than it was. His eye was puffy where one kick had snapped his head into the wall unexpectedly. Most of the serious punches or kicks he'd managed to roll with just enough to avoid actual damage. Putting his good eye to the crack, he saw that the single guard sitting in the outer room was asleep, as usual. He had a brazier at his feet and a mug of cooling tea on the desk beside him. Watching for a moment showed the Ranger that he was deeply asleep and unlikely to simply wake up.

A quick check at his window showed the tower guard possibly asleep, at least he was propped up against the wall out of the constant wind, all but hidden from view. The roving patroller was no where within sight... which perturbed him. Finally he decided it was the best time he could hope for and twisted his wrists a few times. Slipping the abraded skin through the sloppily tied restraints took him only a minute. Taking the rope in hand, he unknotted and coiled it up to carry. Going back to his corner, he picked at a large nail, dragging it out of the wood. He'd spent most of one night prying it out, then reinserted it so no one would realize it was loose. Back to the door with his nail, he poked the hinge pins out easily.

Shaking his head at the ineptness of the idiots who would use a room with the hinges on the inside of the door for a prison cell, Beach tucked the nail into a pocket and peered out the crack again to check the sleeping guard. Rubbing his hands a moment to warm them as best he could, he took the door and lifted carefully. Turning it slowly, he pushed it open on the hinge side until the lock slid free. Setting the door aside silently, he took the rope out and slipped up to the guard. Strangling him from behind took a moment, and Beach grunted softly lifting the weight away from the brazier and the desk lest the flailing struggles knock over something and make unwanted noise.

Checking the body, he took a knife and checked the boot size, grimacing when they proved to be three sizes too small to fit him. A second to drag the body into the cell and slide the door back into place might buy him several minutes if anyone looked in casually. Then he poked his head out of the building and slipped into the night. He was annoyed that he couldn't spot the roving patrolman but he used the shadows to move to the larger building in the center of the compound. It was the only building with all the windows both glassed in and curtained.

The side door led him through a small kitchen, then a open room with a phone and radio set up. He took a few extra seconds to cut through all the wires behind a table. Ghosting through rooms was slightly easier due to not wearing noisy boots, harder since he really couldn't feel his feet anymore. Still, he found no sign of life other than snores from behind closed doors. Checking around the corner of the hallway showed him a door with a guard standing in front of it.

Beach smiled. Other than a fancy name plate on the bedroom, there wasn't a much more obvious manner of pointing out which room his target was sleeping in. The guard looked bored and like he was possibly dozing against the wall, head down, rifle slung on his back instead of held at the ready. Beach flipped his knife idly in one hand, considering which way would be most quiet to take out the guard. Deciding to risk throwing his knife and following up with a bull rush, he hefted the blade in his hand and stepped around the corner to throw.

He came nearly face to face with the surprised guard. The thought that the guard had picked the most inconvenient moment in time to decide to go take a break crossed Beach's mind even as he turned the blade and sliced across the guard's throat. He grabbed the other man's powerful arms, struggling to keep him under control until he could bleed out. The guard kicked ineffectively at him, instinctively trying to reach for his gashed open throat rather than attempting to reach for his weapons. It didn't take long for him to sag into unconsciousness. The burly Ranger lowered him to the floor as quietly as he could. He was breathing hard just from wrestling with the one man. The time without warmth and food had sapped his strength more than he'd realized. Snarling at the body, he rolled it to the side. A quick search gave him another knife, a handgun and the rifle. Beach slung the rifle and tucked the pistol into his pocket. He needed silence more than firepower.

Moving down to the now unguarded doorway, Beach listened at the door and heard snoring. Easing the doorknob open, he moved inside. The bed and it's occupant took much of the space, but he could see a small briefcase on the floor next to the head of the bed. Plucking it up, he snagged the little bits of metal out of his hair. He paused a few seconds to warm his shaking fingers under his arms. Using the lock picks on the briefcase, he tried to open it silently but couldn't help the tiny clicks. The snoring stopped and he froze, waiting motionless and tense. When the man in the bed rolled over and opened his eyes, Beach dropped the case onto the foot of the bed and reached to clamp one hand over his mouth and the other around his throat.

Leaning in, Beach bared his teeth. "Shhhhhhh..." The soft hiss made Mad Tournish grab at the thick wrists. "No no... shhh... be still or I'll have to snap yer neck..." A tightening of the hand on his throat made the struggles cease and the man nodded. "Good. You couldn't show up on schedule, could ya? You've been very inconvienant." Beach's eyes glittered in the dim light filtering in past the curtains. "Make even a squeak, yer dead as yer guard layin' out there." The eyes shifting to look at the slightly open door made Beach nod. "Yes, he's dead, no one will hear you dyin' in here if'n I chose to get a bit of revenge fer yer plans fer me tomorrow." There was a muffled noise of fear. "Shhhh..." The noise stopped instantly. "Now, hold still... I'll knock you out, then go away." The hand wrapped around his throat turned loose only to bring a shiny blade up to show to the terrified eyes. "One noise, I'll slice yer throat." He turned the blade over twice, catching the attention of Tournish before he slammed the hilt into the side of his head. Beach felt for the pulse, finding it slow but steady. As much as he would prefer killing the warlord, he had orders to leave this one alive.

Dumping the case's contents onto the floorboards, Beach picked out the computer hard-drives he was searching for and tucked them inside his clothing. He took a few minutes to truss up the unconscious man, tying him securely. Muttering at the small boots he found once again, Beach plucked up two more knives and tucked those into his pockets. He found a gold-plated small pistol and made a face at the loose action in the mechanism. Despite the shoddy construction, he tucked it in the small of his back.

Finally moving through the doorway again, he tried to slip down the hall in silence. Just as he passed a heavy wooden door, it opened to reveal his head keeper, staring at the unexpected apparition in the hall. There was an instant where the expression turned to a sneer as the brutal keeper assumed he was still dealing with a frightened abused corporal under his control. Then Beach was on him, punching once in the face to stun and drive him backwards. The man got one squawk out before the Ranger punched his throat, seizing up the voice box. Paniced and choking, he managed to grab up a rifle from a table inside the room and Beach grabbed the barrel, snatching it out of his weak grasp easily. The rifle was spun into a club and crushed the side of his skull with a rather loud thunk. Beach glared down at the twitching form and snorted softly. "Next time, don't take my damned boots."

He didn't pause this time, worried that the noises might bring more armed men. Instead he rushed through the building as quickly as stealth allowed. Checking the back door, he opened it and slipped out, still in only socks to trot across the empty yard towards the brush. All he wanted at this point was to get into the scrubby woods without stumbling across the guard who was actually doing his job in roaming around with a gun guarding things. He didn't particularly feel hopeful however. Somehow his luck didn't usually run in the direction of good.

Sure enough, he rounded the corner of a shed and almost fell over the guard, hiding behind the tiny building to smoke some sort of drug from the sharp odor in the smoke. Beachhead barely paused, grabbing up the guard and snapping his neck cleanly before he was able to even identify the figure as their prisoner. Dropping the latest body in a heap, he took off at a run, heading for the dark brush. His hand patted to locate the computer parts secure in his clothing. He winced slightly as his feet landed on rocks or sticks but kept going. When he became winded, he slowed to a trot, continuing in the same direction until he finally reached a stream to wade into. Clambering out of the freezing water on the far side, he sped towards the flat rocks and then carefully backed along the same footsteps back into the water and headed upstream towards the north.

The rushing water stayed thigh-deep as he struggled along. Once in a while he would stumble slightly. Fearing for the cards, he took a moment to drag them out and held them in a hand tightly. Half the time he kept his eyes on his hand, worried that the cold would numb him into dropping the precious drives. After an hour or more, he heard distant shots ringing out and paused to listen. He thought he might hear the truck engines, but it was difficult to tell. He continued along the stream dragging his legs through the weight of the cold water. His socks gave him slightly more purchase on the slippery rocks and he made it up the stream until it split into two smaller creeks. Recognizing the feature from his intel maps, he slogged out of the stream as soon as he found a rocky spot. Tucking the cards away again, he set off to the northwest, mentally plotting out the area and trying to place exactly where he'd left the transponder. Once he found the transponder and set it off, he'd have just enough time to get to the landing zone.

* * *

><p>Local Base Camp:<p>

Clutch was dozing when a rough hand shook him awake. "Whuu?" He sat up and blinked, already reaching for his boots. "We got signal?"

"No, your shift." Mutt jerked a thumb towards the communications tent. "If Beach ain't signaled by dawn, I say we go look for him anyway." The dog handler yawned and flopped into the vacated cot. "It's freezing out there, make sure you button up your coat." Junkyard whined softly and Mutt patted his legs, encouraging his dog to jump up onto the cot with him. "C'mon Junk, it ain't fit for man nor beast out there."

Clutch grumbled but headed through the chill towards the canvas tents where the radio operators kept all the area communications sorted out. He'd spend a cold four hours before being relieved by WildBill. "Beach had better not be enjoying some woodland hike instead of getting to the LZ. If I freeze my balls off, he's going to get such a piece of my mind when he gets back."

Lowlight's voice came floating out of the darkness. "Knowing Beach, he'll probably come walking into camp bitching about how we took too long to come get him."

Clutch grabbed at his chest. "Dammit! You just about gave me heart failure! You know that's creepy as hell, man!"

Lowlight chuckled softly. "You just have to make the night your friend, Clutch." The red tinted lenses faded back into the shadows.

Clutch watched him disappear again. "Merry Christmas you creepy fuck."

"Happy Hanukkah Clutch."

Clutch shook his head. "Damn, my own teammates are going to end up being the death of me. Worrying over Beach and getting scared out of my shorts by LowLight... what next?" He ducked to enter the tent and made sure to tug the flap shut again. "Hey guys, any signal yet?" He was greeted with vaguely annoyed looks and a negative answer. "Dammit, Beachhead. Where the hell are you?"

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><p>End Chapter<p>

Beach is loose but will they find him before the bad guys or before he freezes? Stay tuned!


	3. Unlikely Gifts

Thanks for the reviews and it's continued below...

Standard disclaimer, I own no rights to GI Joe and make no money from writing fanfics.

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Somewhere in the woods:

Beach inhaled and swallowed a cough as the chill hit his lungs. He could finally see the slight tint of light in the east and shivered. He'd kept moving all night, afraid to stop even for a short rest. If he fell asleep, he might not wake as cold as the air was. At the very least, continuing to move had mostly dried his clothing. Even the battered wool socks were merely damp. His feet were numb which might be a blessing as he couldn't feel the bruising any more. Tucking his hands under his arms, he peered around himself. With the lightening of the sky, he could see the outlines of two mountains. Orienting himself again, he adjusted his course and headed out again.

As the world was revealed by daylight, Beach dully realized that cover was scarce. Scrubby trees didn't provide much in the way of concealment and he tried to keep to the lower ground when possible. Through the night, he'd heard distant engines only once in a while. They didn't seem to have picked up his trail but daylight would help them. He stumbled and nearly fell and cursed inside his head. He couldn't waste the breath to use his voice. His body was numb and wracked with pain, a combination that made no sense and irked his sense of fairness. At least the hunger pains had faded in the face of hypothermia and exhaustion. Beach fell over a tree root and lay still for a few minutes.

His eyes seemed too heavy to stay open and he suddenly struggled to his knees. Couldn't go to sleep, stupid Ranger. Sleep would lead to coma which led to death and death would mean he couldn't complete the mission which would mean he was a failure and with Wayne Sneeden, failure _wasn't_ going to happen. It took everything he had to get to his feet. Once standing, he simply stood, staring blankly at the small clearing, trying to kickstart his brain into the next step.

Step, step once, steps were next. Keep moving. He staggered as he walked, the movement becoming more regular as he continued. Reaching the edge of the clearing, he stopped again. Why was he stopped? There had to be some reason. Beach took a step and stopped again, staring at the beacon. Why was he stopped? He needed to keep moving. Staring at the metal canister, he blinked and thought about it. Walking would be good. That thing _there_ was what he needed to walk to, to find that thing _right there_. He blinked and shook his head.

That was his beacon, the transponder he'd been searching for. Stumbling over, he brushed a slight dusting of snow off of it and popped the access panel open. Breathing on his fingers a moment, he struggled to remember which sequence to enter. Dredging up the code out of a chilled brain, he slowly poked the right buttons in order. When the amber light blinked twice and turned green, he heard one soft beep before it went silent. Refastening the cover, Beach grabbed a nearby branch and covered it up.

Standing up with an effort, he looked around and tried to remember exactly what the directions to the pick up zone were. The extraction team wouldn't come to the signal, they would come to a spot a certain direction and distance from the signal. Otherwise, the pick up would be a race between the good guys and the bad guys to see which would reach the ranger first. Picking out his direction, Beach headed out, feeling fresher just knowing that his team would be heading to pick him up now. As long as he got to the right zone before he ran out of the last reserves of energy, he'd be riding home in mere hours. The daylight made navigating easier but brought no warmth.

Beach suddenly stopped and patted himself, searching for the all important computer bits. Finding them, he sighed in relief and continued on his way. He had to stop to get his bearings often, worried that he would go off course and not make it to the pick up zone. Managing a slow shuffling trot at times, he tried to make up time and get to the pick up zone.

* * *

><p>Base Camp:<p>

"WE GOT SIGNAL!" Mutt's shouts were followed by his dog's excited barking. "Let's go!"

One of the Army lieutenants held up a hand. "It will take you guys at least half an hour to prep for take off." He was pushed aside as Clutch came at a sprint, followed by WildBill and LowLight. He watched them swarm the heavy chopper, shouting at each other as they did the prep work like a Indy pit crew on a race car. The blades began turning as the last checks were preformed and all of the Joes were onboard including the dog before the lieutenant could protest again. The engines roared to full life and the chopper lifted off, turning in midair before speeding off into the distance.

"Well, shit, you'd think they had somewhere to go..."

Inside the chopper, Lowlight stowed his rifle and moved up to peer over Clutch's shoulder in the co-pilot's seat. "How long until we reach the LZ?"

WildBill answered. "Two hours. That gives him plenty of time to get there. Hopefully any hostiles run right for the beacon and don't stumble on him."

Clutch snorted loudly. "Hopefully for them, Beach can take care of himself. They'll have to bring in a whole new pack of insurgents if we don't pull him out quick." Junkyard woofed and the mechanic reached down to scratch his ears. "Yeah Junkyard,you wanna go chase insurgents? You wanna?"

Mutt frowned and tugged his dog back. "Don't get him all worked up. It's okay Junk, settle down." He watched the landscape whipping past underneath them and tugged his coat tighter closed. "I should've brought Junk's sweater. It's cold out there."

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the woods:<p>

Beachhead stumbled to a stop and stood still, trying to figure out again what made him stop. The damp leaves under his feet muffled sound and made his socks wet again. He shook with chill and peered around as a sound penetrated his brain slowly. He heard a Jeep engine and took a deep breath in and held it, trying to see if the noise was getting closer.

A roar of engine as the vehicle got closer finally made him look around for a hiding spot. A quick check showed he'd left nearly no trail on the damp leaves, especially since he'd been avoiding the little patches of snow whenever he could. Staggering to a fallen tree trunk, he carefully scooped the drifted leaves away from the log and flopped himself into the crevice. Letting the mat of wet leaves lay back over his body, he scrunched back into the wet and became still, breathing in long shallow breaths to avoid disturbing the leaves over his face or putting steam into the cold air. If he didn't move and no one stepped onto him, he should avoid detection by a casual observer.

Only a moment later the Jeep entered the clearing and stopped. One of the local hunters hopped out and gestured at the clearing, speaking in a low tone to the angry occupant of the vehicle. Mad Tournish snarled at the native and waved a gun in the air.

"I do not CARE! Find him!" The warlord was spitting with rage and Beach instinctively drew back ever so slightly. "I want his HEAD ON A STAKE!" The gun was pointed at the hunter. "You find him!"

"Yes Lord Tournish, I am trying... he does not leave tracks." The man spread his hands helplessly. "I can only follow tracks when there are tracks to follow." He stepped backwards when he was shouted at more.

Beachhead's hands itched to get one of his weapons out. He hadn't thought to pull either of the handguns out of his pockets before burying in the leaves. Now if he twitched a hand, he'd alert one of his enemies to the fact that their prey was lying near helpless only feet away. He stared up at the hunter who stepped backwards again, now only two steps away from the buried Ranger. If he decided to turn and walk to the log, he'd walk onto his body.

A glance at the vehicle told him that he had no chance of bursting out of cover in a surprise attack. Four gunmen sat or stood on the back, gazing around the area while holding semi-automatic weapons at the ready. Apparently his toll on the members of the compound had put all the remaining ones on high alert. Beach counted his odds slowly inside his head. If he had the rifle in his half-frozen hands, safety off and ready... if he wasn't so cold that simply thinking about if he had a chance caused his brain to seize up... if he was ten miles away in a rescue chopper with a warm blanket and his teammates around him. If he was wishing, he might as well wish to be back at the Pitt looking at a Christmas dinner and anticipating Courtney's arrival from her trip home for the holidays.

Sure, she'd been disappointed that he 'couldn't' go back to her mother's for Christmas. In a certain way, she seemed relieved though. Whether she was relieved he wouldn't be there, or relieved that she had a valid excuse for not staying for very long at her mother's house... well, he'd spent some hours thinking about that. His conclusion depended on the moment and whether he was feeling particularly self-conscious about his lack of social standing.

A rustle near his head made him focus again. Stupid Ranger. Thinking about girls when you were about to be shot by enough firepower to take down a squad. Stupid stupid. He concentrated on not shivering, forcing his body to be still despite it's desire to shake violently to generate heat. The tracker was moving around the clearing, frowning as he seemed to spot the faintest of marks on the wet leaves. Beach's eyes spotted a single overturned leaf. The dry side up was a blazing sign pointing towards human interference. He felt like it was a giant blinking sign pointing directly at his hiding spot. If he'd disturbed too many of the leaves in the mat over his body, the tracker would easily find him. He blinked slowly, his vision mostly obscured by the leafy camouflage covering his head.

The tracker wandered side to side, gazing at the ground and working his way closer to the log. Within a foot, bent over peering at a handful of dry leaves sitting out in the open of a wet clearing, his eyes traveled up the heap of plant matter to suddenly lock gazes with a set of deep brown eyes. The native's mouth tightened as he looked at the desperate prey hiding within arm's reach. One long slow blink and what might have been a flash of pity and he suddenly straightened up, kicking a clump of ground cover towards the log.

"There's nothing but old sign here. Hours old. He's headed north. We have to hurry or we will never catch up." The hunter rushed to jump into the Jeep and pointed towards the north through a small opening in the trees. "Hurry! He's moving very fast!"

The Jeep cranked up and rolled out of the clearing slowly, Mad Tournish berating and questioning the tracker as they left. Beach heard the words 'back tracking' and stayed frozen in his hiding space. He kept his breathing shallow trying to listen to see if any vehicles were moving nearby. After several long minutes he thought of emerging to head away in hopes of getting closer to where he was to be picked up, but heard voices getting closer and only took time to get one of the handguns out and brought it to his chest. Becoming still again, he watched a group of the armed men come into the clearing, following the Jeep tracks and chattering among themselves. Instead of hunting for him, they seemed more concerned with simply following the vehicle but he didn't take the chance and stayed buried under the leaf litter.

Hiding in the deep bone-chilling cold made him sleepy despite his adrenalin from the near miss. As it faded from his body, he found himself fighting the impulse to close his eyes. He needed to get up and move, hypothermia training circled around in his head. Get up and exercise to warm the body and keep the blood flowing or you'll die, stupid Ranger. Cold weather training. You're stationed in a desert, living in quarters with a perpetual chill from being underground, training in all weather conditions, running exercises in snow, wind or rain... you know better than to lie here and succumb to hypothermia.

His eyes grew heavy though. The thoughts racing through his mind became slow, slogging into the morass of memory and confusing his intentions. Confusion became lethargy became inaction became sleep. If he rested just for a few moments, then he would feel warmer and could get up and keep running. His leg twitched slightly. Running would make him warm. He should get up and run. His head moved slightly but failed to bring him awake. Despite his training screaming at him to move, his body dragged him into a deep dreamless sleep.

The cold body chilled further as it lay still nearly hidden from view. One small clearing in a forest of scrubby growth, filled with dips and ravines. One bit of forest in acres and miles of nothing. One man in miles of foliage, hidden from view, motionless and yet slipping away slowly.

* * *

><p>End Chapter<p>

Will he be discovered? Will he freeze? Will Junkyard get to bite insurgents? Stay tuned.


	4. Lost but Found

As promised, Chapter 4.

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><p>Extraction Team:<p>

Lowlight gazed across the area as the chopper hovered briefly. "I don't see a damn thing." Wild Bill pointed the nose of the chopper to the north and headed out. "We're not leaving!"

Wild Bill nodded. "If he's not here, we don't want to lead every hostile right to his pick up spot, do we now? We'll circle the area, keep moving erratically, keep all the locals off balance."

Clutch kept his eyes on the forest below. "He should be here, it's been more than enough time for him to make his way to the LZ. Something's wrong." He pointed down. "Put us down, then run a grid with random flights so you don't point us out to the locals. If he's under the trees, we'll never spot him from the air. We have a better shot at finding him from ground level and if you spot him and pick him up, it's easier to spot our group to pick us up."

The pilot nodded. "Radio silence unless someone finds him." He looked over his shoulder at the Joes. "We can't stay too long... two hours before dark we have to head back to the base. That's our absolute time limit. It's also our fuel limit."

Lowlight lifted the sling on his rifle over his shoulder. "We ain't going back without him. We don't leave Joes behind. You can take the chopper back and come back for us in the morning if you have to."

WildBill sighed into the mike. "We got orders. We follow them. What makes you think you guys can locate him if the chopper can't and the enemy hasn't?"

Mutt snorted loudly. "The enemy ain't Joes and the enemy ain't got Junkyard. He'll find him, we just need to run across his trail."

WildBill started looking for a spot to set down. "All right guys, but remember our time limit. Stay clear of insurgents too, we're not supposed to engage anyone unless fired upon after doing everything to avoid any confrontation. Got that?"

Clutch grinned as he unbuckled. "Yeah, play nice with the other kids. Got it." Checking his rifle, he zipped up his jacket and nodded at Lowlight and Mutt. "Let's go."

As all of them jumped out, Mutt gestured towards the forest. "Seek. Seek Junkyard." The dog gave a low woof and trotted off, zigzagging across the woods in a purposeful fashion. "Junk will find him if he's out here."

They all kept their weapons at the ready and moved quietly, keeping watch for both possible enemies and any signs of their missing teammate. The noise of their chopper passing nearby or even overhead faded. As an hour went by, the tension rose among them. Junkyard returned to Mutt whining softly.

"What'd you find boy? Come on... find Beachhead... you know Beach, go find ole Beach for us... seek." Mutt gave his dog a push and pointed and the dog headed back into the woods. Suddenly Junkyard lowered his head and sniffed in a circle. He whined loudly and circled the spot twice more before trotting off in one direction. They followed the dog at a trot, moving quickly and trying to keep the dark furred canine within sight.

Junkyard sped up and rushed ahead of them, disappearing through the trees. Mutt broke into a flat run trying to catch up and the other two followed slightly more warily, trying to both run after them and watch all around them. When they entered a clearing, they almost stumbled over Junkyard who was nosing at a pile of leaves and whining loudly.

Mutt took his dog by the collar and tugged him back. "Watch out, boy, what'd you find...oh jesus..." He reached to brush wet leaves off the concealed body. "Shit shit shit... " Uncovering Beachhead showed Mutt several dark bruises across the familiar face. He reached a hand out to put fingers on the pale cheek and felt chill stiff flesh. "Guys... I think he's..."

"Nnngh..." Beach opened his eyes and stared blearily up at Mutt. "Gnnngh..." Junkyard pushed in to lick at his face and pawed at his chest. "Gah... dog..."

Mutt inhaled and shouted to the others. "He's alive..." He took one of Beach's arms to pull him free of the layers of wet leaf matter. "Are you all right? Injured? Yeah Junk, you did good, good boy." The Ranger's body was stiff with cold and Mutt was suddenly worried. "Look, what are you doing buried? come out of there, you're hypothermic, let's get you warmed up." He felt the man begin shaking. "Where's your boots, man?" The dog handler peeled off his own coat to wrap around him. "He's half-frozen..." Mutt began checking him over for any obvious major injuries.

"Mutt?" Beach was becoming awake and aware slowly. He blinked a few times at the Joes. "Merry christmas to me... Ah gotta extraction team..."

LowLight bent to help get the coat onto Beach's arm for him. "Yep, sorry we didn't wrap ourselves. And Junkyard ate his big red bow." The sniper turned to speak to Clutch. "Call WildBill, tell him two klicks north of here, there's a clearing big enough to set the chopper down there."

Clutch nodded, already checking the map to triangulate the coordinates. "Got it." He glanced over as Beach was struggling to his feet with Mutt's assistance. "You gonna be able to walk out, sergeant major?"

"I can walk." Staggering sideways, Beach righted himself and winced as his bruises protested. "Let's get the fuck out of here." Junkyard bumped into his thigh and he stumbled. "Dang it dog..."

"Junk, move..." Mutt waved his dog aside. "Guys, I can't find any serious injury, but he's half frozen. We need to get him back to base." He got under one of Beach's arms. "Let me help..." The Ranger leaned on him as he tried to limp faster. "You're going to have frostbite."

"Frostbite came too?" The confused look made Mutt almost smile. "We ain't gotta walk back to the Pitt, do we?"

"No Beach, there's that pesky ocean between us so we arranged for a flight instead. You can swim it if you really want to prove your manly Ranger skills are still intact though." Clutch paced them to one side.

"Fuck off." Beach tried to speed up as his arms and legs limbered up. "Gnnngh, my knees are stiff." He still limped along at a decent pace.

Before Clutch could respond with a quip, they all heard a vehicle engine. Freezing in place, they turned to look behind them. The engine noise got louder and Lowlight unslung his long rifle. "Take Beach and get moving. I'll catch up."

"Hell no, we ain't leavin' you." Beach protested and stopped, clumsily groping for the rifle still slung on his back. "Bring 'em on." He paused. "We ain't supposed to shoot the head fucker. You know... if'n we ain't gotta."

Lowlight frowned. "Why not? It'd be a hell of a lot simpler. Shoot the boss, watch the rest scatter." He found a tree trunk to stand behind, checking for a fall back position as well.

Beach gave up trying to insert the magazine into the battered AK-47 and handed it to Mutt. "Load me up, fuckin' hands are too numb." Mutt took the gun and loaded it, racking the slide and handing it back without comment. "Thanks." Beach grunted in pain as he settled to the ground behind a stump. "Intel says the guys lined up to take his place would 'engage in ethnic cleansings' so we'd rather have this asshole in charge." He squinted slightly, his blackened right eye narrowing. "Course, the fucker _was_ gonna shoot me in the head. Could be I take that a little personal."

Junkyard gave a sharp bark and then scrambled to beside his master at a low command. "They're almost here." All the Joes took cover out of sight.

Beach suddenly looked around. "Try not to hit the local guide. He ain't one of them." He saw nods and settled again. The Jeep roared into the narrow path and LowLight dropped one round through the windshield. The brakes squealed loudly as it came to a stop, the men all ducking and shouting.

Beachhead shouted across the clearing to the vehicle. "Time for y'all to go back home!"

Mad Tournish was beginning to show why people had added the "mad" to his name. He wasn't quite foaming at the mouth. "I will have your head! You will die slowly while screaming for mercy!"

Beach sighed and Clutch leaned in to whisper at him. "Who pissed in his wheaties? Why's he got such a desire to off you?"

The Ranger gave a shrug with one shoulder as he answered. "Ehh, I guess he's got his nose outa joint cause I knocked him in the head and left him tied up so I could steal his computer hard-drives after I killed a buncha his guys. Some folks just take things personal."

Clutch stared at him a moment. "Yeah, just can't be businesslike, huh? Weren't you suppose to not mess with him?"

Snorting, Beach didn't take his eyes off the enemy as he spoke quietly. "Well I did have to steal the things, that was the mission. And he was gonna shoot me in the head, so ain't like I was the one being anti-social to begin with." He raised his voice. "You gonna go away or am I gonna have to shoot all of you guys down?"

"You are very brave for a single corporal with one stolen gun!" Mad Tournish pointed over the Jeep's hood. "We will swarm you and take you alive so I can ENJOY beheading you!"

Beach took careful aim. "Give them one round each guys." There was a loud volley that caused the vehicle full of insurgents to shout and duck for cover. "I told you guys I just got lost! I found my pals! Go away!"

"You have something that belongs to me! I want it back!" Tournish seemed determined to not lose face in front of his men.

Beach grinned and dug behind his back to find the gold-plated pistol. Pitching it almost to the door of the Jeep, he shouted loudly. "There! You can have the piece of shit back!" He shook his head at Mutt next to him. "I don't think the bastard is going to give up."

* * *

><p>End Chapter<p>

Things look dire for the whole team. Is there any possibility of them getting out alive? Stay tuned.


	5. Nonreindeer rescues

Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews! Yes, I know. Cliff hangers. You should expect them from me by now, but no worries, I should be posting each evening until the fic is done!

* * *

><p>The Joes stayed hidden behind cover while the insurgents prepared to attack. Their limited ammunition meant they would have to be conservative in firing and each one picked out their best targets. Beach hissed as he eased further down behind the tree roots. "You ain't gettin' nothin' else from me... count yourself lucky I didn't cut your throat when I had the chance!"<p>

Tournish was pumping his fist in the air. "Filthy pig! Give back the computer drives or we will DESTROY YOU!" Suddenly the ground in front of the Jeep was torn apart by heavy anti-aircraft fire. He dropped down into the seat shrieking.

WildBill dropped the chopper lower to the top edges of the trees. His Texan drawl sounded through the loudspeakers. "Ya'll go on and leave them boys alone, you hear? I would hate to drill ya'll fulla holes, but I will get mighty perturbed in about ten seconds and make that Jeep a smokin' hole in the ground."

The Joes watched the driver make the decision not to wait to hear any orders from the warlord. The Jeep was thrown into reverse and roared away, running over a few bushes in the insane rush to get away from the attack chopper hovering overhead.

WildBill's voice sounded again. "You fellers had best make tracks for the L.Z. so I can pick y'all up." He lifted the chopper up and turned it to fly towards the clearing they were headed for. The chopper flew slowly and circled a bit just in case the enemy regained their bravado.

Clutch stood up grinning. "Man, I'm glad he's on our side!"

Mutt shivered as he helped Beachhead stand up. "Come on, let's get moving." It took Beachhead a good two minutes just to regain his feet. "Are we gonna have to carry you?"

"Hell no." Beach straightened with an effort. Every bruise on his body was stiffening. "I'm just runnin' on fuckin' empty here." He pushed the assisting hand away anyway. "Let's go..." His numb hands nearly dropped the rifle and he clutched it to his chest. He suddenly peered at Mutt. "Where the fuck is yer coat?"

Mutt couldn't help grinning. "It's on you." The Ranger blinked at him and he nodded to the side. "We need to get to WildBill before he gets impatient with us." That got Beach moving in a shuffling trot. It wasn't very much faster than a jog but they all held back to pace him.

Passing through the trees, Mutt stayed beside Beachhead the whole way to the clearing with the chopper just landing in the center. He could tell his teammate had passed to 'autopilot' mode and grasped his elbow to steer him to the chopper door. Before he could tell anyone to help, LowLight took Beach's opposite arm to lift him into the back of the helicopter.

Almost before the last Joe finished climbing in, WildBill took them up and sped off towards the distant base. The team members got settled in while LowLight propped Beachhead into a seat. He tugged two of the blankets loose from the cargo netting and handed one to Mutt. "You still with us, Sergeant major?"

Beginning to shake violently at this point, Beach nodded with his jaws clenched tight. "Y-y-yeah... c-can't feel mah f-feet or fingers..." He looked up at Clutch as the mechanic fumbled around under one of the seats. "Happy t-to see you guys." Junkyard wuffed at him and he grinned down at the rottie. "Yeah, even y-you, you m-mangy dog." Junk ignored the insult and climbed onto Beach's legs to try licking his face. "Get off..."

Mutt tugged the dog away. "Not now Junk." He had wrapped himself in the blanket and looked warm already. "Stay awake, Beach. Once we get you back to the medical folks, they'll make sure you're warm before you get to sleep."

Beach managed to keep his eyes open, staring at nothing in particular. Despite Mutt trying to order his dog to stay put, Junkyard clambered up beside the Ranger anyway, putting his head into Beach's lap. LowLight tugged at the wet shirt. "We need to get the wet clothing off you." The chopper dipped slightly, causing the half-asleep Beachhead to tilt over almost out of the seat. "Whoa..." The sniper caught him and braced him back into place while Clutch buckled his safety belt. "Look, if you fall out, we're not coming back to get you again. Got me?"

Beach's head wobbled as he peered up and blinked. "Door's s-shut." He got one hand up on Junkyard's head. "Hey bowwow.." He let his head lean over onto the dog.

LowLight gave him a little shake. "Hey, stay awake. Help me get your shirt off. Wet clothing is going to keep you cold..." Even though he was gentle, Beach winced and had trouble getting his arms out of the long sleeves of the fatigue shirt. Clutch muttered a soft curse and looked away from the mottled bruises spread over the thick muscles. LowLight gave the mechanic a warning glance but Beach seemed either to not notice or didn't care. "Okay, here... lean forward..." Wrapping the blanket around the shivering form, LowLight carefully folded it into place and pushed him back upright. "Better? Technically I should take those pants off too, but I'm afraid that'll have to wait until you're on the ground."

"Leave m-my pants alone, ya perv..." Beach's voice was slurred and his head tilted over onto the dog again. Resting his cheek on the fur, he sighed heavily. "Waaarm..."

Clutch reached to shake him. "Stay awake." He held a small cup under Beach's nose and watched his nose twitch. "It's just warm, not hot... drink some coffee." The mechanic watched the struggle to awaken enough to grasp at the cup. "I'll hold it for you, just sip it..." The chopper dipped slightly but Clutch was skilled at working in vehicles being taken over rough terrain. "I've got it, drink... drink some more.."

Beach slurped happily. "Coffe..." Instead of speech, a burble emerged as he chose drinking over talking. "Is hot.." He swallowed again and winced, reaching to touch his bruised and split lip. "Ow." The warm beverage seemed to revive him somewhat. "Glad y-you guys found me." He blinked and widened his eyes in an attempt to wake up more. "How far out are we?"

Clutch urged him to drink more. "We'll be back at base in about an hour. Once the medics thaw you out and check you over, we've got transport back to the States." He gave a pat to wake him up again. "Stay awake. What happened? You're over two days late. Things go wrong?"

"Shit yeah." Beach let his head fall back to rest against the chopper wall. "Tournish was s'posed be there the damn day I came in. Fucker didn't show fer days after." His hand came up and rubbed his side. "Ain't got nothin' worse than some bruises though." His eyes closed again.

Reaching out, Clutch shook him again. "Hey, no sleeping." He continued to annoy the Ranger until his eyes opened to glare at him. Even the swollen black eye didn't detract much from his ability to glare. "Where are your boots? Tell us how you lost your boots."

"Fuckers took 'em." Beach gazed down at his wet socks. "Feet are gonna have frostbite. Oughta get the socks off so they dry." He started to try to reach down and winced.

Clutch pushed him back up. "I got it. I don't think your hands work well enough to try to get your socks off anyway."

With his half-frozen feet wrapped in a dry blanket, Beach seemed ready to go to sleep again. Mutt kept pestering him with questions to keep him awake. He finally got the sergeant major riled up enough to start ranting. Nodding agreeably to all the complaints about how unprofessional the camp had been run, Mutt kept from grinning with an effort at times.

"If'n we'd got GOOD Intel telling us the place was full of crappy pogues what don't know to even set a decent perimeter watch, I coulda just snuck in at night and nabbed the damn drives insteada goin' and gettin' "captured" and sittin' my damn ass in a stupid room that my worst greenshirt could have broke out of with a damn toothpick and dumb luck!" Finally running himself out of energy, Beach heaved a sigh. "Is it still Christmas?"

"Yep, for a few more hours anyway. We won't get back to the Pitt until tomorrow though." Clutch poured the last of the lukewarm coffee into the cup. "Here... it's not eggnog but it'll have to do." Beach slurped the dregs down anyway and coughed. "Well, Merry Christmas to the Joe team, we got a Sergeant major in our stocking."

"Don't you in mean 'in dirty socks'?" LowLight smiled when Beach glared at him.

"Don't start in at me, damn it. You're the one with fuckin' dirty socks all over the damn room." Beach huffed and tried to tug his blanket further around himself. "Why you gotta get all mouthy every time you show up on a mission with me?"

"You bring out the best in him." Mutt shook his head. "Look, there's the camp in the distance. See?" He pointed out the window and Beach obligingly looked. "Be just a few minutes and we'll have you to the medics. Warm and dry with some clean clothes."

Beach snorted slightly. "And some food. Hot food." He leaned his head over onto the patient rottie. "Junk, yer the best dog. Don't go mouthin' off at Order neither. He'll bite me in the ass and I'll have to beat both of you damn dogs."

Junkyard settled for a low woof, whether agreeing or not, no one could tell. When Beach started to go to sleep again, the dog licked his face and made him snort.

"Even Junk knows, no sleeping yet." Clutch shook Beach's shoulder a little. "Come on, just a few minutes." There was enough grumbling that he was reassured Beach wasn't asleep. "WildBill is setting us down."

The chopper settled to the ground and the engines began shutting down. WildBill came to the back just as Clutch was dragging the door open. "Okay, all off, last stop, furniture-housewares-clocks-dirty Rangers-this floor."

Beach struggled to focus on the rangy pilot. "Mouthy Texan. You _were_ bad-ass back there."

WildBill grinned. "Well, we waited for you for days. Couldn't just let some upstart go and try to steal you from us. We're entitled to a loud smelly PT instructor and it'd be a pain to find a replacement that puts up with Shipwreck."

"Mouthy, y'all are all mouthy." Beach's complaint sounded entirely too happy to be taken seriously.

Mutt grinned at that. "Count yourself lucky that Mouth was on Christmas break."

Beach groaned as he stood on his bruised feet. "I'm lucky." He hobbled to the door and gazed rather mournfully at the three foot drop to the dirt. "This's gonna suck." He stepped out but LowLight and Clutch caught him before he landed. With their assistance, he could stand on the ground without hurting his already painful feet. "Thanks. Where's the food?"

"Medics first, then food." Too tired and cold to protest much, the Ranger was led to the medical section and given over to a entire pack of fretting medical personnel. Apparently the camp had little in the way of action, and thus little in the way of injury or illness to treat. This led to happy medics that were bored and eager to treat any cases that showed up on their doorstep.

After the third time one of his companions shook him awake, the medics shooed the other Joes out. "You don't need to keep him awake, he needs rest!" Protests about instructions to never fall asleep in the snow led to eye-rolling and hand-waving. "No, you don't fall asleep out IN the elements but he's hardly out in the elements NOW is he? We can wake him to give him warm beverages, otherwise let him rest! Now go! Out!"

Allowing themselves to be herded out with minor protests, Clutch volunteered to report to the airfield via radio to set up the flight home while the rest went to the messhall. In only hours they would be headed home.

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><p>End Chapter<p>

Yes, we knew those insurgents didn't stand a chance. Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	6. 6 Medics Fussing

Chapter 6

Thank you guys for reading! It's getting near to the finish!

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><p>Two hours later Mutt looked up from his hand of cards. "Did you guys hear something?" LowLight grunted softly and shuffled his cards around in his hand a moment. "I thought I heard some shouting."<p>

WildBill tipped his hat up to blink sleepily at the dog handler. "Huh?"

Clutch nudged the pilot. "Go back to sleep. Mutt's starting to hear things."

All of them turned their heads when a distinctive shout was heard in the distance. Clutch sighed. "Oh. Seems Beach must be feeling better."

Junkyard was already up and bolting out of the mess tent, barking as he left. Mutt chased after him. "Junk! Come back here!"

"GAWD DAMN DOG!" They found Beach sprawled on the ground being wallowed on by the happy rottweiler. "Get yer dog off me! Junkyard! Get the medics! Not me! Jump on them!"

While the medics pulled back looking apprehensive about the large dog, Junkyard showed no inclination to stop wrestling with Beachhead. Clutch looked down at them. "Aww, it's cute, lookit how Junk likes to try to rip his arms off. Git 'em Junk!"

"Junkyard! Leave it!" Mutt finally ordered his dog back. "Sorry Beach, he's just excited that he got to chase you down twice now. Shouldn't you be in the medical tent?" He helped the Ranger to his feet.

"Hell no, they wouldn't give me anything to eat but damn watery soup." Beach tilted his head and sniffed then pointed unerringly at the mess tent. "I'm gonna get some food." As he continued hobbling along, he waved off the two medics fussing at him. "Tell them to get away from me. Sicc your dog on them or something."

Mutt shrugged. "Well I guess I could... will you fill out the death forms?" He turned to watch the medics racing back to the medical tents. "Oh never mind. They seem to have other things to do." Beach gave a harsh laugh. "You're still not wearing any boots."

"No, I can't put boots on over my feet, too painful." Beach pointed at the mess tent again. "Food first. Tell me they have something hot. I'll eat squash porridge if it's hot right now." Mutt helped him inside to sit down, while Clutch went to get him a tray of hot food. "AND COFFEE!" he shouted after the mechanic.

Clutch rolled his eyes over it but fetched a cup of coffee with sugar packets as well. "Well, you haven't lost your voice." He set the tray down. "Try to chew it."

The Ranger began inhaling food. "Shut up." A happy mumble came out him as he wiped up mashed potatoes that really didn't seem to contain any root vegetables at all. "I'm starving and cold and sore. I can only seem to fix one of those issues."

One of the doctors appeared in the entrance of the mess tent looking perturbed. Clutch looked up and sighed. "Well, eat faster, you might be being dragged back to the infirmary." Beach hunched over his tray slightly and eyed the medic warily. Clutch waved a hand over the scene. "You can order him back, but I wouldn't suggest putting any fingers near his food, he's been known to bite the occasional thumb off. Just a friendly warning." Beach's grunt was his only comment as he continued to eat.

The doctor considered the warning a moment. "Well, he's welcome to eat, but I'd prefer him to eat in the infirmary where we can monitor him."

"Monitored me enough..." Beach swallowed a piece of bread in one bite. "... I'm fine. Y'all said I wasn't in any danger and my body temp was up within 'nominal range'" Whatever meat was buried under the gravy-like sauce disappeared almost as quickly as the bread had.

Rubbing his forehead slightly, the doctor adopted a very reasonable tone. "One of the medics mentioned your body temps were out of the danger zone... which isn't the same. We still want to be certain you warm up properly and don't get chilled all over again. In addition, you could have frostbite on your feet and we should monitor that."

Beach waved a second piece of bread at him. "I can warm up anywhere what ain't cold. And if I did have frostbite on my feet, there ain't a damn thing you can do other than warm them up and wait to see what rots off 'em. Don't try to tell me different. I know my cold-weather protocol."

Taken aback at his patient correcting him, the physician frowned at him. "Well this is true but still..."

"But still nothin', I'm eatin' and then we gotta get in the air." Beach nodded at WildBill who tried to suddenly look awake and alert. "Tell him about the transport... we got a flight, right?"

WildBill nodded earnestly. "We do have a flight in only..." He checked his watch carefully. "...in only an hour and a half. By the time we get back in the States, it'll be late tomorrow." He looked at the other Joes who all seemed amused. "We can make sure he stays in warm areas and such. The plane will be sort of warm."

Beach nodded again. "See? It's all set. Can't do nothin' about it. So go on back to yer infirmary and leave me alone."

Grumbling, the doctor disappeared and then came back before Beach could finish a second tray. "Here... at least you can wear a few pairs of socks and make sure you stay bundled up in warm clothing and blankets and here are heat packs. Will you at least try to use these and not collapse into a hypothermic coma or anything?"

Belching loudly, Beach sighed. "Sure. Whatever." Letting the medic help him put the thick socks on over his abused feet, he turned to Clutch. "How far is the airfield?"

"About an hour on these roads, unless you want me to bang you up in one of these old Jeeps bouncing over the ruts and culverts." Clutch grinned. "We'll buckle your seatbelt so you won't fly out, but it won't be comfortable unless I take it easy on the speed."

Beach rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm beat up enough already. You go and knock me out of a movin' Jeep and I'm telling the girls you gave me all these bruises."

Clutch mock-gasped and clutched at his chest. "Oh no! Anything but that!"

LowLight got up and took the empty trays and cups. "I'll get a couple thermoses of coffee." He walked away.

By the time the sniper reappeared with thermoses and his rifle case slung over a shoulder, the medic had Beachhead bundled up in a set of blankets in the Jeep's back seat and was giving him instructions.

Mutt finally interrupted him. "Don't bother. He isn't going to listen, and our medical personnel on our base is better at getting him to do what he's supposed to do anyway. Thanks." He boosted Junkyard into the backseat where the dog promptly curled up on Beach's thighs. "Junk, don't lay on him!"

Beach stuck a hand out of his blankets to pat Junk's head. "He can lie there." Mutt smiled. "He'll cut the wind off my legs. Better him than me." Mutt rolled his eyes. "Get in the damn Jeep so we can leave. I'm sick of this damned country."

Clutch revved the engine. "Stow your rifle LowLight, we gotta get moving or he's liable to jump out and run to the airfield just to show us all up with his Rangerly abilities."

Beach reached out to slap the driver's head sharply. "Shut up and drive, you two-bit mechanic."

"Ow! Dang it... Miss Daisy never were so mean..." LowLight gave a soft laugh as he fastened his own seatbelt. Clutch protested a little more as he headed down the roads. Despite his threats, he kept to the best patches of road and to a speed slow enough to not completely dismantle the Jeep through sheer vibration.

When they loaded onto the plane, Beach settled into a jump seat and sighed. "Why don't I ever get a passenger jet? Every damn time I gotta fly back to the States, it's a damn cargo plane with freakin' jump seats and just enough heat to keep from dyin'."

Clutch fussed at him as he wrapped two blankets around the Ranger's legs. "There's plenty of heat, it's just nippy in here." Tucking the blankets under his feet, he noticed the wincing. "Your feet hurting?"

"Fuckin' yeah, they're killing me." Beach scrunched down in the seat as best he could. "Them heat packs is warmin' them up and fuck if'n it don't hurt a damn lot. Means they ain't dead, right?"

"I guess so. If the heat packs run out, let me know and I'll stick a fresh one in for you. The medics gave me a bunch. How's the rest of you? Anywhere cold that needs a fresh heat pack? Don't get cold again." Clutch's voice sounded gruff as he covered his concern. "I don't want to get yelled at that we let you lapse into a hyperthermobile coma."

Beach snorted. "HyPO-therMIC coma, and no, I'm warmin' up. Just got a chill set in me. Just gonna take a while to get full warmed up through and through." He moved his feet around. "I think I just wriggled my toes. Maybe I will get to keep all of them."

"What? Keep all of them? I think Junkyard was looking forward to eating a few for treats." Clutch was thumped in the shoulder by Mutt. "Hey!"

The dog handler scowled at him as he settled into his own jump seat. "That's just nasty. Junkyard only gets good wholesome treats." He scratched the dog's ears. "Isn't that right? Only the good treats. He knows good stuff and he don't eat no garbage. Right Junk? You got good taste."

Beach yawned widely. "He drinks outa the toilet. He's got no taste at all."

Mutt stared at the Ranger then pointed a finger sternly at his dog. "Junkyard! I told you, no blue water! No blue water! That's bad water!"

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><p>End Chapter<p>

So they're not making it back to the Pitt until the day after Christmas. Poor guy missed out on the holiday after all. Pity.


	7. UnChristmas After All

And it's the END of the fic. I did want it to end on the day after Christmas, just like in the fic but I must have miscalculated the days and so it ends on Christmas eve. Think of it as a fic present for all the readers who are so kind as to read my feeble efforts at writing. Those who leave reviews, picture a big red bow(that Junk didn't eat) on top of the story, okay? Thank all of you!

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><p>Beachhead managed to sleep most of the long flight, although people woke him up a few times. Several times it was to offer something to warm to drink or a sandwich. Not a few times were people who after extensive discussion decided to check to see if sleeping was really the feared 'coma'. Despite his attempts to gripe about being awakened for no good reason, Beach's need for sleep meant he barely got to grumble before falling asleep again.<p>

Mutt and Clutch played cards on a cargo crate, joined by one of the air crew. WildBill had claimed the crewman's seat in the cockpit to chat up the pilots. The Texan never passed up an ear that hadn't already heard his favorite stories. LowLight had chosen the traditional Army method of riding transport to anywhere that didn't require him to be on guard and fallen asleep in his jump seat, beanie tugged down over his eyes. Even the rough jostling of the turbulence didn't waken the sniper, although the worst jerks often made Beachhead wake up enough to blink sleepily around the plane.

Once they finally landed at the airstrip near the Pitt, WildBill helped Beachhead into one of the waiting VAMPs parked there. Mutt pointed at the backseat and then rolled his eyes when Junkyard whined to climb in the front seat instead. "No, get in the back. You're spoiled." He frowned at the other Joes. "I told you guys not to keep feeding him stuff. Now look, he doesn't want to even jump in the danged VAMP."

Clutch got in the drivers seat and raised an eyebrow. "Junk, you wanna treat? I bet there's treats at the kitchen! C'mon Junk! Let's go terrorize the KP crew!" The rottie woofed loudly and scrambled aboard, wagging his stubby tail energetically.

Mutt grumbled as he got in beside LowLight who had loaded their bags into the back. "You're getting him all worked up and you know the kitchen crew is just going to pitch a fit because they got sticks up their butts about Junkyard."

Clutch grinned and reached around to scratch the dog's ears. "Yeah, but when they pitch the fit, they're going pitch it at you, not me. No hair off my back. Right Junk? Right?"

Junkyard woofed again louder and panted happily. Mutt squinted at him. "Who's side are you on anyway?" His dog relented and licked his face as they started the drive.

When Clutch pulled into the garages, they all grinned to see the familiar red jumpsuit pacing back and forth. Mutt was the first to comment. "Look, Beach, your babysitter is waiting for you."

Snorting himself awake, Beach didn't do much more than blink at the other Joes before struggling to get himself out of the vehicle. He ignored the instant stream of questions from Lifeline. "Get away... I just want some hot water and hot food. I don't need to go to the infirmary and I don't need no fussin' over from you!"

Lifeline was practiced at getting his way and sighed at the dirty Ranger as he hobbled rather slowly to the elevators. "Well, let's compromise..."

Beach glared. "Yeah, let's compromise. I'll get a hot shower and hot food and you'll go away."

Rolling his eyes, the medic continued. "As I was saying, let's compromise and you get a hot shower and I check your body temperature and any injuries then you get hot food in the rec room where it's warmer and you can rest while you eat." He listened to the grumbling. "You get everything you want, and just have to let me fuss a little bit to make certain you aren't going to fall over with any intestines hanging out or anything else messy. Fair?"

"Whatever." Beachhead accepted the arm of support for the walk to the showers as Mutt volunteered to bring him dinner in the rec room in a bit. As Beach got his clothing peeled off slowly, Lifeline tutted and fussed but agreed that everything was minor. "Told you I was fine."

"Well, you also said you were fine last time you broke your leg. And before that when you had a sliced open arm... and the time before that when you had two bullets in you..." Lifeline stood outside the shower to wait.

Beach was scrubbing his hair clean and protested. "Those bullets wasn't nothin' but 9 millimeters! They barely count!" He rinsed and turned the water hotter. "Gawd DAMN I'm still cold!"

"Use as much hot water as you need. Nothing warms a hypothermia case better than a hot bath, but a hot shower is good too." Lifeline yawned. "Just don't fall over and crack your skull, okay?"

"Alright but only cause you asked nice." Beach heard the laugh. "Shouldn't you still be at yer sister's house? Thought you were staying a couple days? It's only the day after Christmas."

"Yeah well..." Lifeline shifted his weight. "Sorry you missed Christmas, Beach."

"Ain't no big deal. Ain't the first holiday I missed, ain't gonna be the last. And you ducked the question. How come you ain't at yer sister's?" Beach found the perfect spot to lean against the wall in the shower and let hot water run over himself. Even the worst bruises started to feel a little better with the heat relaxing him.

Lifeline cleared his throat. "I was there for Christmas eve. And I was there Christmas morning. Her kids did the present thing and we all had breakfast, it was.. it was nice."

Blinking sleepily, Beach focused again. "And?"

Giving a sigh, Lifeline continued. "And then my father showed up so I left. What's this got to do with whether your injuries need to be seen and treated anyway?" He tried to sound annoyed but knew somehow he wasn't going to fool his friend.

"Sorry Ed." The Ranger in the shower paused. "Well, just... sorry. Wish it'd gone better."

Mustering a little humor, Lifeline snorted. "I'd say you had the worse Christmas of the two of us."

Laughing, Beach retorted. "I'd disagree. I got to kill the bastards that pissed ME off during the holiday."

"Jeez... you're a barbarian." Lifeline held out a set of sweatpants to the emerging Ranger. "You look like hell."

"Thanks. Appreciate yer candor and sensitivity." Beach moved his feet one at a time. "I think I escaped frostbite."

Checking, Lifeline hummed. "Too early to tell, you have a lot of discoloration."

"Ehh, it's bruises." Showing off the bottom of his left foot, Beach pointed. "Check it out... stone bruise in the middle of my foot. Half my dang foot is purple! Bastards shouldn't have took my boots. That was damned low of them." He accepted help getting the thick long sleeved shirt over his head. Despite the hot water, he still felt chilled. He didn't feel it was very fair to be cold a dozen hours after leaving the elements. Voicing the complaints made Lifeline lecture him about the best ways to warm a hypothermia patient and point out how the Ranger had deliberately foiled all attempts to use those techniques. "It still ain't fair."

"Yes, not fair. Aren't you the one always shouting how 'life's not fair gawd dammit and ya'll better get used to it' at all of us?" Lifeline's mimicing of his accent made Beach frown. "Just reminding you... and don't worry, one good night of sleep in a warm bed and you should feel much better. You won't be doing too much on those feet for a few days." He offered to help as they walked out of the showers towards the Joes' main rec room and was waved away.

Duke's voice made Beach twist to look as their commanding officer approached. "That's fine, Beach is slated to work in the offices for the next week anyway."

"Awwww c'mon Top! I hate paperwork!" Beach's protest was half-hearted at best. "I just got back from the crappiest mission based on the most inaccurate Intel EVER! And it was fuckin' cold and the damn asshole I was hittin' was two days late! I should get a break."

"You're getting a break. You have two days off, starting tomorrow and then you go on office duty for the next five days. Nice relaxing break working in the nice relaxing offices. You'll love it." Duke beamed happily. "And don't worry, I'll take the PT training in the mornings so you can sleep in and everything."

"I hate you." Beach thought about it a moment. "I hate you... sir."

"Very good then. All settled." Duke gave a wave. "I'm off to the security office. Rest up, glad to have you back. That information we're getting off the computer harddrives you retrieved is top notch by the way. Good work. And good work not killing Tournish. I'm sure it was a temptation if you were anywhere close to him."

"Yeah, close to him..." Beach glared as he continued to the rec room. "I was close enough to ram a .50 cal right up his.."

"BEACH!" Courtney had been sitting curled on on the end of the couch in the rec room and came flying up to practically tackle him. His loud yelp of pain as he staggered under the impact made her stop and reach to steady him before he fell over. "Gosh, sorry! I didn't know you were hurt!"

"Dang it woman!" Beach reached for the back of the couch and hobbled around it carefully. "Don't kill me sayin' hello." He settled on the couch spot she'd vacated and allowed her to apologize as she put pillows behind his back. "Fine, fine... fine! Stop it." He got hugged gingerly around the neck before she backed off. "Glad to see you too, darlin'. What are you doin' here anyway?" He watched the lights blinking on a rather ratty Christmas tree someone had dragged in to set up in the rec room. Everyone seemed like they managed to find something to use as an ornament. If half the ornaments were used brass cartridges or brass shell fragments from exploded ordinance, there was enough cheap tinsel to make up for it. Someone had been daring enough to find a barbie doll and wrap what looked suspiciously like white toilet paper to make a simulated angel for the top. If you didn't look too closely, it was almost pretty. Beach focused on the tank jockey hovering. "I thought you'd be gone today and the next couple days, off to your mama's place?"

"Oh well..." Courtney smiled as she shrugged. "I was thinking that I could make my appearance at Mother's big Christmas bash, then leave and get back here to be with my boyfriend. Originally it was spend Christmas here, then leave, but I traded off, left early, then got back in time for Christmas Day." Beach looked aside and she adopted a fake pouty tone, crossing her arms in an exaggerated pose. "But then I find out.. he's off gallivanting about the globe, saving the world and such. Just no time for his poor lonely girlfriend who was waiting back at base, wasting away wondering if he was even thinking about her." She twirled a bit of hair around her finger. "I mean, how selfish of him... not even coming back on time to share Christmas day? Terrible." Her vapid eye blinking made Beach wince. "Were you out partying without me?"

"Yes. Partying with a troop of insurgents." Beach was trying to figure out if she was acting or angry. "It wasn't like I didn't WANT to be back here."

"I know that silly!" She plopped down next to him, all smiles. "I was only teasing. I was really worried when you weren't back though. Are you okay? I mean, if Lifeline let you stay out of the infirmary, you're probably okay, right?" Her careless facade slipped a little.

"Naw, I'm just bruised up and cold." Beach's eyes widened slightly. "And there's my dinner! Thanks Mutt." The dog handler came in carrying a steaming tray, his dog trotting along behind attentively. "No Junk, mine!"

Mutt pushed the rottie aside. "Leave it, Junkyard. He'll bite your nose." Sitting down in one of the chairs, he raised an eyebrow at Lifeline. "You give him his yet?"

"Oh... no, not yet." Lifeline got up and pulled out a wrapped package. "Here, Beach... Merry Christmas." As Beachhead finished the hot food off, the medic pulled out another package for himself. "I waited for you to get back."

Breaker's voice made Beach jump slightly. "Me too." He put a second small bag in the Ranger's lap. "Couldn't open a present from you if you weren't here, you know." He settled in as Mutt and CoverGirl added presents too. "Just didn't seem right."

CoverGirl passed out the small items to the others and got her own packages to grin at BeachHead. "What? You didn't think we'd let you miss Christmas, did you? Come on, Ranger man... it's _Christmas_!"

Beachhead blinked at them, feeling just a tiny bit out of his depth. He turned as Clutch walked in and handed him a large mug. "Hey, merry un-Christmas Beach."

He took the drink. "You're Jewish, Clutch."

The mechanic grinned and lifted his own glass. "Yeah, but I still like eggnog. Drink up. The kitchen mixed up one last little batch for tonight."

"Geez guys..." Beach forbid himself to sniff even a tiny bit, and if his eyes were blurry, well, he needed sleep, didn't he? "Thanks."

Everyone turned at the loud theatrical sigh from the doorway. Ace bent slightly to peer at Beach closer then straightened to look mournful. "Damn it. I just lost two hundred bucks. Couldn't you just shed one tear for me, Beach?"

"Bastard." The strained mood broken by Ace's witty quip, everyone turned to opening their little gifts. Courtney produced the small blue box that Duke had dutifully given her on the correct day, still unopened. Beach was pleased to get to see her mouth go all round as she looked at the necklace he'd picked out(with a great deal of assistance from Scarlett as to what colors and what constituted 'gaudy' versus 'elegant' in jewelry). Ace graciously helped her fasten it on when Beach's fingers were too clumsy with chilblains to assist her.

"I love sapphires! Wayne, it's gorgeous!" She moved next to him to hug him again, trying not to squash him anywhere that might hurt. "Thank you."

"Better than a radiator?" Beach was kissed thoroughly. "Hmmm, definitely better than a radiator..." He winced slightly as his lip was bumped. "Ow."

Courtney stopped kissing him to check it quickly. "Sorry. You're so banged up it's hard to love on you."

"Ehh, I'll take the sting to get the lovin'..." Beach smiled at her and she kissed him again lightly. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do." Courtney tilted her chin down trying to look at the new necklace. "I can't wait to show Jaye..." She curled her legs underneath her and cuddled to his side gently. "Those are nice socks Lifeline gave you." Beach wriggled his feet in the new wool socks. "Why do you guys always get each other socks?"

"It's tradition." Lifeline answered as he padded by in his new red socks. "The silk is nice by the way. I always wondered why people got silk socks, but they're surprisingly warm."

Beach nodded and sipped at the last of his eggnog. "Best sock fer linin' in cold weather. Put a second layer of wool over top and yer feet never get cold again." Settling slightly lower in the comfortable couch, he sighed. "This is a nice un-Christmas." He gazed sleepily at the festive lights glinting off spent ammo, one day late but still somehow the holiday... just for him thanks to his friends. "Thanks guys."

Mutt looked up from the ever-present cards in his hands. "Hey, couldn't go and have Christmas without you. Wouldn't be right." His attention turned back to Ace and Breaker seated at the table with him. "Got annnnnny... fours?"

Breaker sat up and smiled. "Go fish!" The dog handler cursed softly. Junkyard looked up briefly then went back to gnawing on his own present, a stuffed blue chewtoy that might have resembled Cobra Commander just a little bit. The room was quiet except for the low talk over the card game and the Christmas music playing over the PA system. Beachhead and CoverGirl sat on the end of the couch by themselves on their end of the room.

He kissed the top of her head as she settled it onto his chest. Wrapping his arm around her, he hugged tightly. "Ah'm glad you thought Ah was worth waitin' Christmas fer..." His voice was sleepy sounding as his accent deepened.

She smiled and stroked his chest lightly. "You're worth anything I could do, Wayne. I wanted to spend Christmas with you." Her smile widened slightly as she lifted up to look at him. "Besides, Mother's parties are horrible and there's so _much_ more fun to be had here anyway."

Beach's mouth quirked up slightly at the wicked tone in her voice. "Ahhh, really? Ya know, Ah checked my list... you've been naughty..."

Her voice went all sly as she purred into his ear. "You'd better check it again... because I'm about to be naughtier..."

"Merry Un-Christmas to me..."

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><p>End<p>

Hope you enjoyed. I don't celebrate Christmas myself, so I didn't want to write a regular Christmas fic, and didn't feel it would fit the characters anyway. Too trite and over-done, you know? So I hope you enjoyed this and got the "Awwww!" moment anyway, even if Beachhead didn't make it back in time for Christmas.

Thanks for reading!


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